


Gorgeous Coffee God: or alternatively how John Watson fell for Sherlock Holmes

by ConsultingHound



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Blow Jobs, Hes doing Mrs Hudson's job for her, House Party, M/M, Masturbation, Oblivious John, Oblivious Sherlock, Rugby Captain John, Victor is my fav in this and he only has one line but I love the line so much, coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 16:04:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7940689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConsultingHound/pseuds/ConsultingHound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson stumbles into a coffee shop and ends up falling for a gorgeous stranger.  The only problem is how to get the stranger to notice him and fall for him in return.  In which a barista and a house party help these two idiots get together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gorgeous Coffee God: or alternatively how John Watson fell for Sherlock Holmes

**Author's Note:**

> Would I be a fanfic author if I did not attempt a coffee shop au? But in this one neither is a barista and they aren't in the coffee shop very long.   
> Read through but not beta'd so if there's any mistake let us know :)

John was screwed from the moment he saw him.  The worst thing was that he was fully aware of how screwed he was and did absolutely nothing to stop it.  Even more cliché was the fact he saw him in a damn coffee shop of all places.  

He'd run in after early morning practice. Normally he didn't splash out on coffee (there was coffee in his house, why would he buy an overpriced one) and especially not a fancy place like this one.  But it was Friday and he'd had an exam that week and an early morning practice and so he was going to treat himself to an expensive ridiculous coffee and  _enjoy_ it.  He'd ordered his drink from a bored looking barista, although having worked in coffee chain himself he couldn't blame her, and was looking around the place and there he was. 

John couldn't work out if he had chosen the seat purposefully or if the gods just loved him.  The sunlight lit him beautifully, making him glow like the angelic creature he was.  Dark curls haloed around his face with a fringe swooping over his forehead, stopping just short of falling in his eyes.  A look of concentration focused his features, sharp verdigris eyes narrowed at the laptop in front of him.  John was so focused on staring at the full, pouty lips, imagining them on his own, licking them, _biting_ them, that he barely heard the barista calling his name.  The girl smirked at him as she handed over his coffee, clearly knowing exactly what he was thinking.  He blushed and scarpered to a table. 

This was the first time he saw Sherlock Holmes.  He made sure it was not his last.  Obviously he didn’t know he was called Sherlock Holmes at the time.  Most of the time, in his mind, he was simply the Gorgeous Coffee God.  He did not tell anyone this name.  He did not want it going round he was acting like a besotted 14 year old.  But in his head, he was free to think of as many ludicrous names and fantasies as he wanted.  And dream he did.   

He made sure to sit opposite him but slightly to the side so his mooning was not _so_ obvious.  It became a Friday tradition of sorts.  Sometimes he was there, the same pose as the first time.  Sometimes he was typing on his phone furiously before storming off like a sublime hurricane.  Sometimes he was not there at all.  These were the worst days.  These were the days the barista made a special effort to be nice to him ie actually smiling at him.  He couldn’t tell whether he preferred that look or the amused knowing one that was shot his way most of the time.   

The rugby crew had also noticed.  Some of the lads were walking a different way back from practice and happened to walk by the café at John's peak pining time.  They had not embarrassed him there and then but the ribbing he got at the next practice was fairly brutal to make up for their kindness earlier.  

It was about 6 weeks into his new project that it happened.  He was thinking about branching out, seeing if GCG was there at any other times of the week, and so was not fully concentrating as he walked into the café.  This was also slightly on purpose so he didn't look too desperate.  Today the barista had a small smirk on her face. This was new.  It was kind of scary actually. 

He took his coffee gingerly, expecting something to be in it.  He swung round to his table and- 

GCG was at his table.  

He was looking directly at John.   

He nodded to the seat across from him.  

John might have heard the barista snort behind him but he was too busy trying not to hyperventilate to really register it.  Then he realised he was just stood at the counter top, clutching a coffee and staring at GCG.  The man in question had narrowed his eyes in response.  If he didn't move now then that would be it.   

He shakily went and sat across from the man. 

"Hello," John said, smiling.  The man did not smile back.  He simply stared.  Well not exactly staring.  It was not like John's usually starry-eyed watching or a gormless empty headed stare.  He was scanning.  There wasn't much to do but to wait it out.  

Whatever he saw seemed to please him.   

"Sherlock Holmes," he offered, with a head tilt like a puppy.  It was one of the cutest things John had seen.  

"John Watson," he smiled again, trying to keep it restrained to 'polite' rather than 'adoring'.  _Sherlock_ rattled around his mind.  It suited him.   

"Irene, the barista, said I should talk to you."  John stopped smiling.  Suddenly he regretted his understanding with the barista.  She clearly had sold him out.   

"Oh," was his eloquent response.  If he started running now he could probably be at the airport in an hour and be on his way to a new life in Mexico where he wouldn't have to worry about running into GC- _Sherlock_ ever again.   

"She said it was ridiculous that we were here at the same time and never spoke.  She seems to think I need to make _friends_ or something," Sherlock continued and John halted his travel plans.    

"So she's not a friend?" 

"Demoted to acquaintance," Sherlock's lips quirked into a smirk.   

John's mind was made up.  To be fair it had been made up the first time he'd seen him so it wasn't that difficult a decision to come to.  "Okay then." 

Sherlock tilted his head to the side again in question.  He was going to have to control the urge to run his fingers through those curls.   

"Okay then as in let's see if I can be promoted to friend." 

"Could be dangerous," Sherlock warned but there was a small smile he was trying to fight.   

"Well I do like a challenge," John smiled back, taking a sip of his coffee.  

Oh yeah.  So screwed. 

*** 

So treat-and-spying Friday coffee became talking-to-Sherlock-and-trying-to-control-his-crush coffee.   

The good news was that Sherlock was amazing and interesting and fascinating.  In fact John was running out of adjectives to describe him.  It turned out they could of run into each other sooner.  Sherlock was studying Chemistry at Barts and used the labs at will when he wasn't running after the police correcting their mistakes, whether they wanted his help or not.   

The bad news was that his crush was getting increasingly worse and his self-control was not as good as he thought.  After learning Sherlock could possibly be in the very same building as him, he spent most of his lectures trying _not_ to think about Sherlock being in the next room over and failing desperately.  It was also exhausting attempting to keep his crush from the man in question.  If his rugby mates, who had the collective awareness of a root vegetable, could tell he had already fallen for this guy, there was no way Sherlock couldn't be aware.  Could there?  Either way Sherlock had not abandoned him yet and John was taking what he could get.   

Which was why he was outside 221 Baker Street.  Sherlock's house.  For a party.  A party at Sherlock's house.  With Sherlock there.  In attendance.  

He'd brought some guy from the rugby team for moral support.  Instead they were being dicks.  He didn't know what he'd expected.  

"So this is where your lover boy lives huh?" Bill began as they walked down the street to Sherlock's flat.   

John sighed heavily.  "Just in case you've forgotten in the 5 seconds since I last said it, he's not my lover boy.  You are not to refer to him as lover boy.  Ever." 

"But what if-?" 

"Ever!" 

"You know you're a lot less fun since you've had this crush," Bill groused.  John didn't reply because they'd reached the door and it had just hit him that this was Sherlock's house and he no longer had the safety blanket of the coffee shop to calm him.  He knew where they stood in the coffee shop.  Fun, vaguely flirty if he was feeling brave, no-one else to distract them.   

Here Sherlock would be surrounded by people he knew and, despite his protests, some he actually liked.  What if they didn't get a chance to talk? What if they did get a chance to talk? What if he already had a boyfriend?  What if he had to stand there and watch Sherlock dancing with his boyfriend and flirting with his boyfriend and kissing his stupid boyfriend who was bound to be gorgeous and smart and who he already hated?  

"Oh god, lads, he's spiralling! Quick before he can make a run for it!" Johnson shouted and Mike lunged for the doorbell.  John turned round to protest and sound his very reasonable concerns when the door opened and he whirled round.  

It was Irene and John couldn't help but feel a little disappointed.  Her black hair, usually carefully pinned up, was loose around her face and her work clothes were swapped for a sparkly black dress.  She looked amazing and if John wasn't so far gone on Sherlock he'd of considered trying flirting with her. 

"You," John said.  

"Hello John.  Hello John's friends.  Come on in," she said, turning back into the house with smirk on her red lips and heading towards the stairs. 

Glancing at his mates, it was clear they were all gone.   

"John, how do you know someone like...well like _her_ and not tell us?" Bill whispered furiously.   

"You think you'd have a chance?"  

"I would at least have liked the opportunity to try." 

"I don't think my girlfriend would be as keen on the idea," Irene said casually and Bill's face blushed bright red.  John considered it karma for the lover boy comment.  Also Bill had never worked out how to be quiet and this might just teach him something.   

The place was fairly busy so John didn't see him at first.  Afterwards he was quite grateful as he would have probably bolted if he was the first thing he saw.  Instead he took in the room with it's quirky wallpaper and battered-but-homely feel.  It was only with Mike repeatedly hitting his arm that he looked away from the skull on the mantel piece (they had been introduced one Friday, he was trying to work out if he should go say hello or if that was ultra weird) and saw Irene waving at them.  The person turned to look at them and John realised.  She was talking to Sherlock.  

Sherlock who looked like he should be walking on a catwalk in Milan or Paris rather than standing in a crowded, chaotic flat.  Sherlock who was dressed in a flannel button down that looked tailored to fit his shape, accentuating a surprising amount of muscle in his arms and coasting his slim waist.  Sherlock with his curls and fringe artfully ruffled into a controlled purposefully-dishevelled style.  Sherlock who was wearing the tightest black jeans known to all humanity that could have been made especially because the universe hated John and wanted him to know exactly how shapely Sherlock's delicious arse could be.  Sherlock who was looking at them right now.  Sherlock who was headed over to them.   

Sherlock who was in front of them and speaking.   

"Hello John," he said, smiling at him and John's heart rate sped up at just the sound.   

John had forgotten all words.  He knew he should be saying something but lord knows what it was.  What did people normally say? 

Johnson hit him not-so-subtly from behind.   

"Oh, yes. Hi, " John said and there was no way he could cover up how startled he sounded. "Sherlock, these are some of my rugby friends. Bill, Johnson, Mike, this is Sherlock." 

"Pleasure to meet you Sherlock," Bill said, holding out his hand.  He looked like it was Christmas.  John was going to have to keep him as far away from Sherlock as physically possible, even if it meant sending Bill to NASA so they could put him on the moon. 

Mike could clearly also see this and jumped in and John could of hugged him for it.  "Hey, you probably don't remember me.  We had that lab together first year."  John retracted that near hug.  They knew each other?   

"I do remember.  You split acid on the counter top because the volleyball team walked past the window.  It saved me from being kicked out."  Why Sherlock remembered this but did not know the current Prime Minister, John could not answer. 

"And now I am dating one of them, so clearly it worked out for me as well," Mike grinned.  Him and bloody Cathy.  He should just go and talk to her instead of chatting to Sherlock like they were old friends.   

"Okay, me and John are just going to put these in the kitchen," Johnson said, holding up his carrier bag full of beer, before grabbing John's shoulder and forcibly steering him away from the conversation.   

"Hey, what the hell man?" John said, shrugging him off as they entered the kitchen.  

"Because you looked like you were going to kill Mike." 

"I was not!"   Well not now anyway.  Later, after he'd told him exactly why he'd kept his past with Sherlock a secret instead of telling him like a mate should.   

Johnson simply sighed.  "Look you know how people say you should drink responsibly? Tonight I really don’t know if that's going to work out for you.  So, you either keep sober enough to keep yourself from strangling everyone who goes near him _or_ you drink so much you start hearing colours and forget everything anyway." 

"Isn't that your solution to everything?" 

"Hey, hasn't failed me before." 

John reluctantly took Johnson's first piece of advice.  He was fairly sure it wasn't good to start a fight over your not-boyfriend-just-a-friend at your not-boyfriend-just-a-friend's house party.  So he went and he mingled and slowly came to the realisation that most people were Irene and a guy called Victor's friends and so were friends with Sherlock via proxy.  This should not of made him as happy as it did but what people didn't know couldn't hurt them.  He also took every opportunity he could get to surreptitiously check Sherlock out.  Judging by the leering look Bill gave him he was not doing too well at the surreptitious part.  The checking out part John felt he had covered to the point he could successfully draw every inch of curve from memory. 

A few hours later, he was leaning near the bookcase watching Johnson and Bill make absolute asses of themselves trying to flirt, when Sherlock appeared in front of him.  His cheeks were flushed a little and he had a small genuine smile on his face.   

"Hi John," he said again.    

"Hey Sherlock," he replied and was very pleased at how collected he sounded.  See, he could do this.  He could be cool.  So cool.  Totally cool.  Okay, maybe he'd had more beer than he thought.   

"I've got something I want to show you," Sherlock said and then pulled him by the shirt sleeve down the hall.  He unlocked the room at the end and then suddenly John was in a bedroom.  Sherlock's bedroom to be precise, if the periodic table of the wall was anything to go by.  Sherlock shut the door and hurried over to his desk to switch on a small lamp.  

"Sorry it's messy in here," Sherlock explained as he rifled for something.  "We had to shove a lot of stuff in here so there was room."  He gestured to the pile of books that were stacked on the floor and the small table next to it. 

"Been there.  Someone fell through our table last time we hosted," John said.  

"Really?" Sherlock looked up with interest.  

John nodded, adding "Clean through.  It was already weak in the middle apparently but then this guy wanted to celebrate winning beer pong and whush, straight on the floor." 

"Are we sure this guy wasn't you?" Sherlock teased.   

"Hand on my heart, it was not me," John said, actually putting his heart to his chest.  "Mainly because I was on the losing side and was happy the bastard fell."  Sherlock giggled and John desperately wanted to hear that again.   

"Come here, look at this," Sherlock ushered him over to the desk.  "What do you see?" John went and stood next to him.  His heart rate picked up as he realised how close they were standing.  The sound of the party was muffled by the door, making the room a small, quiet pocket where it was just the two of them.  He tried to concentrate. 

Identical pictures of a garage were in front of him.   

"Oh, is this that case you were working on?  I thought you already solved it." 

"I have.  I just wanted to see if you have been listening," Sherlock said and looked at him.  Sherlock had been extoling the powers of observation at him for weeks.  They were stood so close John could see the different shades in Sherlock's eyes, even in the dim light.  Sherlock looked way, cheeks flushing a light pink.  John also looked back at the photos hurriedly.   

"They look the same to me."   

"One was taken before the robbery, one after if that helps." 

"So it's a criminal spot-the-difference puzzle, great."  Sherlock chuckled next to him and their arms brushed.  John's entire left arm light up like sparks of electricity were in his bones.  He stifled a gasp.   

"Would it help if I said they went in via the roof?" Sherlock said, his voice slightly deeper than it was a moment before.  John took a calming breath and stared at the photos. 

"The ladder hasn't moved," he said suddenly and in his peripheral vision he could see Sherlock smile. 

"Exactly." 

"So they got in another way.  Their own ladder?"  Sherlock smiled even wider.   

"A green one to be exact.  There were flecks in this mark here." Sherlock pointed at the photo.  This caused their arms to touch again and for him to lean slightly into John's space.  It was as if all the air had left the room.  John only trusted himself to nod, swallowing heavily.  "They figured if the perfectly usable ladder was left in place, no one would suspect them of bringing their own. Stupid reasoning really but then again that's probably why they were caught."  John laughed at Sherlock's derision but it came out breathless.   

They turned to look at each other.  "Brilliant," John said softly, smiling.  Sherlock's face lit up at the praise and John was helpless.  

He leaned over and closed the gap between them, locking their lips together.  He gave Sherlock a moment to back away and John's heart clenched when Sherlock remained motionless.  He was going to pull back and apologise when a soft pressure pushed back against his lips.  John twisted to face Sherlock properly and brought his hands up to do what he'd been wanting to do all evening (translation: for weeks now) and run his fingers through Sherlock's hair. The hum Sherlock made at the contact sent shivers down his spine.  The kiss was so soft and innocent it barely seemed real.  It was precious and beautiful and everything he had wanted but was too scared to take.   

Sherlock leaned back first, resting his forehead on John's.   

"John," he said quietly, eyes locked on John's lips.   

"Okay?" John asked, just needing to know for definite.  Sherlock replied by kissing him again, hands holding onto his waist as he leant back in.  This kiss was bolder, opened mouthed, and John ran his teeth over Sherlock's bottom lip before sucking it gently.  Sherlock groaned softly which made John do it again and this sent all his blood rushing south.   

Of course this was the moment the door burst open. 

"Sherlock do you know- oh my god!"  A tall boy with scruffy bleach blonde hair had fallen through the door and was currently looking proud rather than mortified.  Irene stood close behind him and was still smirking.   

"Victor!" Sherlock shouted, scandlised, flushing even darker red but not letting go of John's hips.   

"It's actually happening! I'm so proud! Right Irene, round everyone up, we'll move this to my place.  Have fun, be safe kids!"  The boy called Victor shouted at them like he was their mother, then ran out the room, shepherding Irene in front of him and slamming the door shut again.   

Sherlock jammed his head into John's shoulder and groaned again, this time in frustration.   

"Can I ask what the hell just happened?" John said, taking the opportunity to snake his arms around Sherlock's back.  He thought he could feel Sherlock's spine through the material of his shirt which they were definitely going to talk about at some point.  (John did not think about the fact he was already planning out an 'after this moment'.) 

"You know when we met, when I was sat at your table?" Sherlock was muffled as he talked into John's shoulder.  John nodded.  "Irene technically did send me but not just because she wanted me to make friends."   

John was still a bit lost.  "Oh?" he tried as it sounded like Sherlock stopped.  

Sherlock sighed.  "She sent me over because she knew I fancied you. Her and Victor have been scheming to get us together for weeks.  Victor walks by the café when he knows we're in there which is why I sat facing the window, so you wouldn't see him,"  Sherlock said this hurriedly and sounded as if he was making a horrible confession instead of making John's dreams come true.   

"So you mean to say that all that time I've spent trying not to flirt with you has been wasted because you were also trying not to flirt with me?"  

Sherlock lifted his head up to look at John suspiciously.  He might have looked more intimidating if his hair didn't look so wild.   

"Trying not to flirt?" 

It was John's turn to look embarrassed.  "I didn’t want to scare you off.  And I didn't think you'd be interested," he added.   

Sherlock moved his hands up to cup John's face.  He tilted John's head up before pulling him into a passionate kiss, swiping his tongue into John's mouth and making John gasp.  He pulled back quickly to say "You idiot," which John felt was unnecessary but he couldn’t reply as he once again was locked into Sherlock's embrace.  John let Sherlock lead for a while.  Although he had initiated, there was still a hestiancy about his touches and moves that suggested a lack of experience.  John could not wait to be able to give him experience.  Sherlock's hands had migrated back down to his hips and were slowly edging lower. John guided them onto his arse which made Sherlock hum and grab slightly, making John groan in turn.   

It was then that John took back control of the kiss, his right hand cupping Sherlock's face, thumb running across Sherlock's cheek bone, the other hand playing with the curls on the nape of his neck.  Sherlock whimpered as the kiss turned slower and deeper, but still with the same intensity.  He practically melted in John's arms and John felt a surge of possessive warmth.   

John pulled back and ghosted his question onto Sherlock's lips.  "Do you want to-?" 

"Yes," Sherlock interrupted, pressing back into John's body. "Yes, yes, yes," he chanted as he nuzzled into John's neck, drawing in deep breaths.  That should not of been as erotic as it was.  John's head was spinning trying to keep up with what was happening.  15 minutes ago he'd been stood in the middle of a party in the living room and now Sherlock was wrapped around him, _wanting_ him.  As if to emphasis Sherlock chose that moment to whisper in his ear. "I think you should take me to bed John." 

Well how could he refuse that?  It was lucky the bed was only a few feet away otherwise they would have never made it.  John began by kissing him once more, making it brief but filthy.  Sherlock was gasping at the end as John trailed biting kisses down his neck to the buttons on his shirt.   

"This has to go," John growled, slipping his hands to Sherlock's jeans, "and these too."  Sherlock was nodding and John helped him tear his clothes off before attacking his own.  John then pushed Sherlock backwards onto the bed.  He grumbled slightly at the fall but John quickly shut him up by straddling his waist and kissing him again.  Both moaned when their cocks brushed together, even with the material in the way.  John experimentally ground down and Sherlock's head slammed onto the mattress.  He did this over and over, pulling a string of curses and moans out of Sherlock in his deep raspy voice which was pure sex.  He mixed in light teasing brushes with deeper grinds and listened and watched the different reactions Sherlock made.   

"J-John. Please," Sherlock whined, his eyes scrunched shut at the teasing.  His hair was messily haloed around his head and his lips were red and kiss-bitten.  He looked absolutely gorgeous and John couldn’t deny him anything. 

Sherlock whined again as John stopped and climbed off him.  "Not what I meant.  What are you-?" He began, opening his eyes and propping himself up on his elbows.  John however had just peeled off his pants, throwing them to the floor and was positioning himself between Sherlock's knees.  John grinned wolfishly at Sherlock's shocked and aroused expression and leant over to kiss it away.  He then trailed kisses down Sherlock's neck again, this time feather light, and along his collarbone, sinking further and further down.  He paused to lick Sherlock's nipples, earning him a hissed intake of breath and then deep groan.  But John had a plan and so kept going lower, alternating kisses with licks and small bites until he reached the band of Sherlock's pants.  He carefully took it between his teeth and pulled them off revealing Sherlock's erect cock.  Sherlock made a strangled noise and John glanced up, worried he'd accidently hurt him.   

Instead Sherlock's pupils were blown wide and his jaw was slack as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.  

"Okay?" John asked again.  He wrapped one hand around the base of Sherlock's cock and the other pressed onto his hip, keeping him pinned to the mattress.   

"Please," Sherlock whimpered.  John then took his cock into his mouth and slowly sunk down.  Sherlock groaned long and loud as John bobbed his head slowly, getting used to the feel of Sherlock's cock and enjoying Sherlock's obvious desire.  He pressed his tongue to the underside as he moved making Sherlock twitch at the pressure.  Then he slid up to suckle on the head.  Sherlock whined in a high pitch and John looked up to see him spread back out on the bed, hand scrunched in the sheet, the other clutching at nothing, trying to find some purchase.  He took Sherlock's hand and placed it in his own hair, encouraging Sherlock to hold on before bobbing his head back down again. He picked up the pace slightly feeling Sherlock's gasping breaths and pleas speed up in turn.  He moved the hand on Sherlock's hip down his inner thigh and then down to cup his balls, pulling them slightly.  John smiled a little as he felt Sherlock struggle not to buck up into his hot, wet mouth at the sensation.  As Sherlock's cries took on a new note of desperation and he felt his balls draw up to his body, John moved his hand and as he sucked on Sherlock's head, he pressed onto Sherlock's perineum.  Sherlock's muscles tensed as he came with a shout, hot and heavy in John's mouth.  John kept sucking gently, all the way through his aftershocks before realising him and swallowed as much as he could.  

Sherlock collapsed back onto the bed, breathing harshly, limbs spread out.  John rose up onto his knees and was painfully aware of his own erection pressing into his stomach.  He licked a stripe over his hand and took hold of himself, balanced above Sherlock.  His pace was fast and he added a twist at the head that had his breath stuttering.  Sherlock's eyes fluttered open and landed on John.  The added of intensity of Sherlock's gaze pushed him over the edge and he came with Sherlock's name spilling out of his lips.  

He slumped forward, careful not to collapse onto Sherlock or the mess currently decorating Sherlock's belly.  He crashed next to Sherlock instead and hazily came down from his orgasm.  This was not helped by the sight of Sherlock running his fingers over his stomach and then bringing them up to his lips, his tongue flicking out.  John groaned at the sight and buried his face in a pillow.  Sherlock was going to kill him, right then and there.  The man in question reached over the side of the bed and swiped at himself, grabbed the blanket that had somehow ended up on the floor.  He covered both of them and then snuggled down next to John, who simply watched from his face-down position.   

They watched each other for a few minutes, curled up together, both smiling madly.  Sherlock lent in to press a small kiss on John's lips and John rolled onto his side to meet it properly.  When they broke apart, he slung an arm around Sherlock's shoulders and pulled him partially on top of him.  Sherlock responded by throwing a leg over John's and wrapping himself securely onto John's side like a limpet.   

"Well that worked out better than expected," Sherlock murmured into his skin and John laughed.   

"Yeah, definitely agree with that."  He ran his fingers lazily through Sherlock's hair, liking the way the curls clung onto his fingers until the last possible second.   

"I want a go next time though." 

"A go?" John asked. 

"A go on your cock," Sherlock said casually.  Okay it was official.  Sherlock Holmes was going to murder John Watson through the medium of sex.   

"That, that's.  A good plan," he stammered and Sherlock snickered into his shoulder.  "I also think we should go on an actual date at some point." 

John worried if he had pushed too far.  They hadn't actually stated what this was and although Sherlock was clearly planning a next time (oh thank god there was a next time), that didn't necessarily mean relationship.  Luckily though, Sherlock hummed in agreement.  "What did you have in mind?"   

In all honesty he hadn't really had anything in mind.  All this was a lot further than John had ever thought he would get.  One idea came to mind however... 

"Well I know a good coffee place."  

There was a pause before Sherlock started to giggle, the vibrations running through John's chest.  He started laughing too and soon they were helpless, each setting the other off again.   

When they eventually settled back down, Sherlock said, "Fine, we can go for coffee if that's what you really want." 

John nodded.  All he wanted was to spend more time with Sherlock and so he'd pretty much of agreed to anything that kept them together.  They were quiet for a moment and John was just about to doze off when Sherlock added, sleepily: 

"You're paying though."  

 


End file.
